and Greenbrier, in the Alleghany region; and returning to the Valley by Clifton Forge, have passed through Rockbridge and Botetourt. In this last-mentioned county we again overtake the carriage, toiling slowly up the western slope of the Blue Ridge. The company, as usual, were on foot, and we find Porte Crayon in conversation with some emigrants who had halted by the roadside to cook their mid-day meal. Addressing himself to the man of the party with jocular familiarity, he desired to know if people were getting too thick to thrive below the Ridge, or if he had fallen out with the Governor, that he was going to leave the Old Commonwealth. The emigrant replied civilly that although there might be room for a few more in his county, yet while there he had only been a renter and not a proprietor. Having realized a few hundred dollars by his labor, he had invested it in purchasing a homestead where lands were cheaper if not better than in his old neighborhood. He, moreover, informed Mr. Crayon that he by no means meditated giving up his allegiance to his native State, but was going to settle in Nicholas County, which he described as a land of promise-pleasant, fertile, and abounding in fish and game. Philosophy reasons, Prudence frowns, but Instinct governs after all. "A rolling stone gathers no moss," says the wise grandam, giving her spinning-wheel a whirl. "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," observes grandpap, pulling his purse-strings close, and tying them in a hard knot. But who ever saw a stone that would not roll if it had an opportunity, or a youngster who would not cut up his little fish for bait to catch a big one with. RUNNING A RISK. might find the winter kind o' lonesome out thar." "I am glad to hear, however, that you are not going to leave Virginia, for," continued Mr. Crayon, "I don't like the idea of building up new States in the Far West when the old ones are scarcely half finished. Why are men hurrying away to the shores of the Pacific to seek for homes, while there exist extensive and fertile districts within our own borders, as pure and intact in their virginity as the vales of the Rocky Mountains, or the banks of the Columbia? I believe the true secret of this restlessness is, that the dreamers are always in hopes of finding some El Dorado where they may live and get rich without work." "The stranger is right," interrupted the sallow matron, who had overheard the conversation, and who seemed particularly struck by the last observation. "I always was set agin the Fur West, for I've been told it's a mighty hard country on wimmin and hosses, and easy on men and dogs; and I told him, thar, that I wouldn't agree to leave the State on no account." Crayon did not fail to compliment Madam on this manifestation of her spirit and good sense, and remarked, further, that women in general were more sincere in their patriotism than men, and if it were not for the care of the children that kept them at home, they would, in all probability, make better soldiers. "I could tell you a story about one Sally Jones, in our part of the country, somewhat to the point. If all our Virginia girls were of the same stamp, these vacant districts would soon be filled up, and the prosperity of the Old Commonwealth fixed on the most reliable and permanent basis." A story illustrating so important a principle in political economy could not be passed over, and Mr. Crayon was requested to continue his discourse, which he did as follows: "Nathan Jones, a small farmer in our vicinity, had a daughter, as pretty and buxom a lass as ever thumped buttermilk in a churn; and whether you saw her carrying eggs to market on the flea-bitten mare, or helping to stir applebutter at a boiling frolic, or making a long reach at a quilting, or sitting demurely in the log meeting-house on a Sunday-in short, wherever you saw her she always looked as pretty, if not prettier, than she had ever done before. "Notwithstanding her attractions, it will scarcely be credited that Sally had reached the mature age of eighteen without an avowed suitor. Admirers, nay lovers, she had by the score; and whenever liquor was convenient, many a sober youth got drunk because of her, and many "My friend, may you prosper in your new a sighing bachelor would willingly have given home," said Crayon, with animation. "Indeed, his riding-horse, or even his share in Dad's farm, I am half envious of your fortune, especially the for her. There was, indeed, no lack of will on hunting and fishing, for I would rather live in their part; the difficulty was in mustering up that country in a log-hut than dwell in marble courage to make the proposal. Mankind seemhalls; I mean more particularly during the sum-ed, for once, to be impressed with a proper sense mer and fall." of its own unworthiness. Now, far be it from "To be sure," rejoined the emigrant, "you any one to infer from this that Sally was prud ish or unapproachable. On the contrary, she | the deeper he sunk in the mire of love, and by was as good-humored, as comely, and disposed to be as loving as she was lovable. Poor Sally! it is a great misfortune for a girl to be too handsome: almost as great as to be too ugly. There she was, sociable and warm-hearted as a pigeon, amiable as a turtle-dove, looking soft encouragement, as plainly as maiden modesty permitted, to her bashful company of admirers, who dawdled about her, twiddling their thumbs, biting the bark off their riding-switches, and playing a number of other sheepish tricks, but saying never a word to the purpose. Either he fears his fate too much, Or his desert is small, Who dares not put it to the touch, "Sally was entering on her ninete...th year when she was one day heard to observe, that men were the meanest, slowest, cowardliest, or'nariest creatures; in short, good for nothing but to lay under an apple-tree with their mouths open, and wait until the apples dropped into them. "This observation was circulated from mouth to mouth, and, like the riddle of the Sphinx, was deeply pondered by Sally's lovers. If any of them had wit enough to solve its meaning, certainly no one had pluck enough to prove the answer. the end of the evening his heart and his confi- "It is probable Sam Bates had never hearkened to the story of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia,' or he would have been less credulous while thus listening to the whispers of fancy, and less ready to take it for granted that the deficiencies of the day would be supplied by the morrow. To-morrow came, and in due time Mr. Bates, tricked off in a bran-new twelvedollar suit of Jews' clothes, was on his way to meeting beside the beautiful Sally. His horse, bedecked with a new fair leather bridle, and a new saddle with brass stirrups, looked as gay as his master. As they rode up to the meeting-house door, Sam could not forbear casting a triumphant glance at the crowd of Sally's adorers that stood around filled with mortification and envy at his successful audacity. Sally's face was roseate with pleasure and bashfulness. "Stop a minute, now, Miss Sally; I'll jist git down and lift ye off!' "Not of this poor-spirited crowd was Sam Bates, a stalwart youth, who stood, in winter, six feet two inches in his stockings (in summer he didn't wear any). Sam was not handsome in the ordinary sense of the term. He was freckled, had a big mouth, and carroty hair. His feet-but no matter,, he usually bought number fourteen and a half boots, because they "Sam essayed to dismount, but in so doing fitted him better than sevens or eights. Sam found that both feet were hopelessly fast in was a wagon-maker by profession, owned a the stirrups. His face swelled and reddened flourishing shop and several hundred acres of like a turkey gobbler's. In vain he twisted and unimproved land, which secured to him the kicked; the crowd was expectant; Sally was reputation of independence. For the rest, he waiting. 'Gosh darn the steerup!' exclaimed was a roystering blade, a good rider, a crack- Sam, endeavoring to break the leathers with shot with the rifle, and an accomplished fiddler. his desperate kicks. At this unwonted exBold to the confines of impudence, he was a clamation Sally looked up, and saw her beau's favorite of the fair; with a heart as big as his predicament. The by-standers began to snickfoot, and a fist like a sledge-hammer, he was the er. Sally was grieved and indignant. Bounacknowledged cock of the walk, and preux cheva-cing out of her saddle, in a twinkling she handlier of the pine-hill country. "Mr. Bates met Sally Jones for the first time at a quilting, and in sixty seconds after sight he had determined to court her. He sat beside her as she stitched, and even had the audacity to squeeze her hand under the quilt. Truth is mighty, and must be told. Although Sally did resent the impertinence by a stick with her needle, she was not half so indignant as she ought to have been. I dare not say she was pleased, but perhaps I should not be far from the truth if I did. It is undeniable that the more gentle and modest a woman is, the more she admires courage and boldness in the other sex. Sally blushed every time her eyes met those of her new beau, and that was as often as she looked up. As for Sam, the longer he gazed VOL. XII.-No. 68.-L ed her entrapped escort a stone. 'Here, Sammy, chunk your foot out with this!' "Oh, Sally Jones, into what an error did your kind heart betray you, to offer this untimely civility in the presence of the assembled county-admirers, rivals, and all! "Sam took the stone and struck a frantic blow at the pertinacious stirrup, but missing his aim, it fell with crushing force upon a soft corn that had come from his wearing tight boots. "Whoa, darn ye!' cried he, losing all control of himself, and threatening to beat his horse's brains out with the stone. "Don't strike the critter, Sammy,' said old Jones; 'you'll gin him the poll evil; but jist let me ongirth the saddle, and we'll git you loose in no time.' "At length the whole county was electrified by the announcement that 'Farmer Jones had concluded to sell out and go West.' On the day appointed for the sale there could not have been less than a hundred horses tethered in his barn-yard. Sam Bates was there, looking as uneasy as a pig in a strange corn-field. Sally might have been a little thinner than usual, just enough to heighten rather than diminish her charms. It was generally known that she was averse to moving West. In fact, she took no pains to conceal her sentiments on the subject, and her pretty eyes were evidently red with recent weeping. She looked mournfully around at each familiar object. The old home "In short, the saddle was unbuckled, and Sam | and whack it into the next tree with the energy dismounted with his feet still fast in the stir- of despair. rups, looking like a criminal in foot-hobbles. With some labor he pulled off his boots, squeezed them out of the stirrups, and pulled them on again. The tender Sally stood by, all the while manifesting the kindest concern; and when he was finally extricated, she took his arm and walked him into church. But this unlucky adventure was too much for Sam; he sneaked out of the meeting during the first prayer, pulled off his boots, and rode home in his stockings. From that time Sam Bates disappeared from society. Literally and metaphorically he shut up shop, and hung up his fiddle. He did not take to liquor like a fool, but took to his ax and cleared I don't know how many acres of rugged, heavy timbered land, thereby increasing the value of his tract to the amount of several hundred dollars. Sally indirectly sent him divers civil messages, intimating that she took no account of that little accident at the meeting-house, and at length ventured on a direct present of a pair of gray yarn stockings, knit with her own hands. But while every effort to win him back to the world was unsuccessful, the yarn stockings were a great comfort in his self-imposed exile. Sam wore them continually, not on his feet, as some matter-of-fact booby might suppose, but in his bosom, and often, during the intervals of his work in the lonely clearing, would he draw them out and ponder on them until a big tear gathered in his eye. 'Oh, Sally Jones, Sally Jones! if I had only had the spunk to have courted ye Saturday night, instead of waiting till Sunday morning, things might have been different!' and then he would pick up his ax, stead, with its chunked and daubed walls; the cherry-trees under which she had played in childhood; the flowers she had planted; and then to see the dear old furniture auctioned off -the churn, the apple-butter pot, the venerable quilting frame, the occasion of so many social gatherings. But harder than all it was when her own white cow was put up; her pet that, when a calf, she had saved from the butcherit was too much, and the tears trickled afresh down Sally's blooming cheeks. 'Ten dollars, ten dollars for the cow!' 'Fifty dollars!' shouted Bates. "Why, Sammy,' whispered a prudent neighbor, she hain't worth twenty at the outside.' "I'll gin fifty for her,' replied Sam, doggedly. "Now, when Sally heard of this piece of gallantry, she must needs thank the purchaser for the compliment, and commend Sukey to his especial kindness. Then she extended her plump hand, which Sam seized with such a devouring grip that the little maiden could scarcely suppress a scream. She did suppress it, however, that she might hear whether he had any thing further to say; but she was disappointed. He turned away dumb, swallowing, as it were, great hunks of grief as big as dumplings. When every thing was sold off, and dinner was over, the company disposed itself about the yard in groups, reclining on the grass or seated on benches and dismantled furniture. The conversation naturally turned on the events of the day and the prospects of the Jones family, and it was unanimously voted a cussed pity that so fine a girl as Sally should be permitted to leave the country so evidently against her will. "Hain't none of you sneaking whelps the sperit to stop her?' asked the white-headed miller, addressing a group of young bachelors lying near. The louts snickered, turned over, whispered to each other, but no one showed any disposition to try the experiment. "The sun was declining in the west. Some of those who lived at a distance were already gone to harness up their horses. To-morrow, the Belle of Cacapon Valley would be on her way to Missouri. Just then Sally rushed from the house, with a face all excitement, a step all determination. Arrived in the middle of the yard, she mounted the reversed apple-butter kettle: 'I don't want to go West-I don't-I don't want to leave Old Virginia; and I won't leave, if there's a man among ye that has spank enough to ask me to stay.' "But where is Southern Chivalry?-withered beneath the sneers of cold-blooded malignity?-choked by the maxims of dollar-jingling prudence ?-distanced on the circular race-course of progress?-bankrupt through the tricks of counterfeiting politicians? Deluded querist, no! Like a strong and generous lion it sleeps-sleeps so soundly that even apes may grimace and chatter insults in its face, and pull hairs from its tail with impunity; but give it a good hard poke, and you will hear a roar that will make the coward tremble and the brave prudent. The "Hearken to the sequel of Sally Jones: "Scarcely had she finished her patriotic address when there was a general rush. less active were trampled over like puffed goatskins at a bacchanalian festival: 'Miss Sally, I axes you;' 'Miss Sally, I spoke first;' 'I bespeaks her for my son Bill,' squeaked an octogenarian, struggling forward to seize her arm. To hide her confusion, Sally covered her face with her apron, when she felt a strong arm thrown round her, and heard a stentorian voice shout, 'She's mine, by Gauley!' "Sam Bates cleared a swath as if he had been in a grain-field, bore his unresisting prize into the house, and slammed the door on the cheering crowd. "The wedding came off that night, and on the following morning Sam rode home, driving his white cow before and carrying his wife behind him." Porte Crayon took his leave, and hastened up the road. He overtook his companions just as they were crossing a brook that came brawling down through a gorge in the mountains. As they tarried upon the bank, Minnie remarked that the stream reminded her of Passage Creek, in the Fort Mountains. "Truly it does," said Crayon; "and the resemblance recalls a pretty allusion which you THE MOUNTAIN BROOK. made at the time we crossed it to Undines, water-spirits, or some such animals, which I thought very poetic, and worthy of being versified." "Ah, cousin! do by all means write me some verses; you know I adore poetry. The piece shall be set to music, and Fanny will sing it." "I never heard that Cousin Porte could write poetry," said Dora, innocently. Porte, who had hitherto made a show of resistance, appeared to be piqued by this remark, and seating himself upon a rock, he drew forth pencil and paper with an expression that seemed to say, I'll show you, Miss, in a few minutes, whether I can write verses or not. Crayon whittled his pencil with a thoughtful and abstracted air. "This scene," said he, "does very much resemble the other in its general features, but the season is farther advanced, and nature wears a drearier aspect. Yet the fresh beauty which she has lost still blooms in your cheeks, my fair companions; seat yourselves near me, therefore, that in your loveliness I may find inspiration for an impromptu." The girls laughingly did as they were commanded, while Porte Crayon alternately pinched his eyebrows and scribbled. Presently, with an air of great unconcern, he handed the results to Cousin Minnie, who read first to herself, and then, with some hesitation, aloud, the following verses: THE WATER-SPRITE. Bright flashing, soft dimpling, the streamlet is flowing; 'Twas a voice-is she dreaming?-that rose from the water, Heed not, list'ning maiden, the Water-Sprite's song, When the hemlock's spire towering the red levin rendeth, Rose, wreath, and green bower in madness she wasteth. warm, And strong arms may guard thee through danger and storm; And love that can brighten the winter of years. The verses were highly commended, and Dora expressed herself greatly astonished that any one who could write such poetry had not written books of it, and become famous, like Milton and Lord Byron, or at least have published some in the newspapers. Crayon made a deprecatory and scornful ges ture-"Trash!" said he, "mere trash, jingling nonsense; versification is at best but a meretricious art, giving undue value to vapid thoughts and sentiments, serving to obscure and weaken sense that would be better expressed in prose." "Why, cousin," exclaimed Minnie, "are these your real sentiments, or is it merely a way of underrating your own performance? Hear what Shakspeare says of poets: montat muiden trips over the streamats bright wave And her zory hunt stips her fair temples to love Shark a voice ( is the dreaming) that rose from the wate That strikes on her car rest with me fair daughter Articulate marmurring stay THE IMPROMPTU. |